"Fool's Paradise"
Wise men have diarrhea of the ears and constipation of the mouth.
Fools have constipation of the ears and diarrhea of the mouth.
What is a piticism?
Witticism's criticism?
Piticism to the poor fool who's following a Nirvana's song.
What was blown?
Weed or Kurt Cobain's brain?
Digging on earth.
The soil is rich and so is an irrigation ditch.
The farmers who fertilize it.
I watch the garden grow and realize that is the world's very own.
Like many farmers, I enjoy losing money and finding it in the lost and found.
But I hope never to end up in the lost and found.
Like the bad soil found in this world's ground.
The colors of our clothes fight with each other and run in a wash.
Some are twins and the others different from one another.
I drank a gin fizzy and drove in the tin lizzie.
By Jonathan Billet 06.25.14
Sunday, June 29, 2014
The Missing Moon
"The Missing Moon"
A man is driving
in his van.
The overcast
clouds serve
as an electric
fan.
He is searching
for the lost moon.
Maybe it is
leaning against
a garbage can.
By Jonathan Billet 06.27.14.
A man is driving
in his van.
The overcast
clouds serve
as an electric
fan.
He is searching
for the lost moon.
Maybe it is
leaning against
a garbage can.
By Jonathan Billet 06.27.14.
Tuesday, June 24, 2014
Noses Of Styrofoam
"Noses Of Styrofoam"
Teeth of fool's gold.
Plenty to the load.
A monocle's prisms.
Part of a dog's dream.
In heaven's steam.
Up in the inner space above us.
Pus coming from a cloud.
God's bad breath ejaculations.
Afraid of premature minds' sensations.
Photographed in the press.
What a mess.
Like a crazy express off a track.
Better get back.
To where you belong in a song.
She was as tall as he was long.
Framed in a classical painting by Van Eyck.
To paint for the New York Times' patrons.
They must have been drunk.
Tanked in the suds.
Smells like a dead skunk.
By a rose's dead beat poet -
named Jonathan Billet.
06.21.14.
Teeth of fool's gold.
Plenty to the load.
A monocle's prisms.
Part of a dog's dream.
In heaven's steam.
Up in the inner space above us.
Pus coming from a cloud.
God's bad breath ejaculations.
Afraid of premature minds' sensations.
Photographed in the press.
What a mess.
Like a crazy express off a track.
Better get back.
To where you belong in a song.
She was as tall as he was long.
Framed in a classical painting by Van Eyck.
To paint for the New York Times' patrons.
They must have been drunk.
Tanked in the suds.
Smells like a dead skunk.
By a rose's dead beat poet -
named Jonathan Billet.
06.21.14.
Scratch
“Scratch”
Sometimes my peanut’s penis rubs me wrong.
Like a beautiful song.
Shake, bake, rattle, and roll, and I’m only six years old.
I’m always searching for new ideas but they have all already been done.
Like everything under a sun.
No fun getting a butterfly net and trying to catch ideas when there are none.
They should be thrown in jail for playing jokes.
The jokes smoke coke through a straw.
Straws in my drawers.
Romulus et Remus pugnabant.
So was all of Rome.
That’s why I try to quote a decent poem.
Use jelly foam’s steam to make buttered cream.
Everything fails to be what it tries to dream.
It is not what it seems to deal.
In wet dreams.
Only screams.
That float in a mind’s silver screen's streams.
The forests are seared by fire water’s smoke.
No joke.
But done before the dawn.
On the wet front lawn.
It’s really sick but reason will do the trick.
Two to five for minding the business’ business.
Look, who makes amends meets in the streets.
Someone who has to walk beats.
Remembering even a new reality with all of its mentality.
The beep, beep, of an alarm’s car.
Always blasting but never casting a shadow on my day.
There’s nothing more to say.
But ideas don’t cost, they pay!
By Jon Billet -06/24/2014
Sometimes my peanut’s penis rubs me wrong.
Like a beautiful song.
Shake, bake, rattle, and roll, and I’m only six years old.
I’m always searching for new ideas but they have all already been done.
Like everything under a sun.
No fun getting a butterfly net and trying to catch ideas when there are none.
They should be thrown in jail for playing jokes.
The jokes smoke coke through a straw.
Straws in my drawers.
Romulus et Remus pugnabant.
So was all of Rome.
That’s why I try to quote a decent poem.
Use jelly foam’s steam to make buttered cream.
Everything fails to be what it tries to dream.
It is not what it seems to deal.
In wet dreams.
Only screams.
That float in a mind’s silver screen's streams.
The forests are seared by fire water’s smoke.
No joke.
But done before the dawn.
On the wet front lawn.
It’s really sick but reason will do the trick.
Two to five for minding the business’ business.
Look, who makes amends meets in the streets.
Someone who has to walk beats.
Remembering even a new reality with all of its mentality.
The beep, beep, of an alarm’s car.
Always blasting but never casting a shadow on my day.
There’s nothing more to say.
But ideas don’t cost, they pay!
By Jon Billet -06/24/2014
Love Is Blue
"Love Is Blue"
You are loved by many... appreciated by few.
Misunderstood by many... loathed by them too.
Tomorrow will be full of hate and sorrow.
So give your brother man a helping hand.
Don't stick your head in the sand.
Let's celebrate what we once had.
It shouldn't grow wrong or bad.
Just a passing fad.
Sad and not at all glad.
It's not real.
A surreal feel.
It's touched.
It has no score.
It won't be living anymore.
In through a magical door during a tropical downpour.
The soaked floor is dried by the sun.
Sunny mirrors reflect my stay in this June's hot day.
The world is revolving and rotating in a strange way.
It almost feels like a day's pay!
Say que?
By Jon Billet 06.24.14.
You are loved by many... appreciated by few.
Misunderstood by many... loathed by them too.
Tomorrow will be full of hate and sorrow.
So give your brother man a helping hand.
Don't stick your head in the sand.
Let's celebrate what we once had.
It shouldn't grow wrong or bad.
Just a passing fad.
Sad and not at all glad.
It's not real.
A surreal feel.
It's touched.
It has no score.
It won't be living anymore.
In through a magical door during a tropical downpour.
The soaked floor is dried by the sun.
Sunny mirrors reflect my stay in this June's hot day.
The world is revolving and rotating in a strange way.
It almost feels like a day's pay!
Say que?
By Jon Billet 06.24.14.
Heaven's Bliss
"Heaven's Bliss"
Clairvoyance is the key to unlock life's mystery.
If you're in tune with nature you can communicate with the world.
It's mental mesmerism.
Time itself in its space in a mystical place.
It has no face.
Belonging only to a new race.
Without eyes it has no sight.
No musical ear to hear.
Only the deafening chirping of the birds in tropical jungles.
No kiss ever missed in this orderly bliss.
Should you decide to run away there will be nowhere to hide.
Like a garden of Eden with only us in the nude.
Heaven is love and love is bliss.
This is the kingdom of heaven.
I love it and you.
Love is always new.
So do onto others as you would have them do for you too.
-- Jonathan Billet
From My Dream Diary
"From My Dream Diary"
"Everyday was yesterday but yesterday's
tomorrow's are today."
From a recent dream I had. As spoken
to Bill Beans, a c.c. I had at on Lake
Winnipesaukee in the sailing journey.
"Everyday was yesterday but yesterday's
tomorrow's are today."
From a recent dream I had. As spoken
to Bill Beans, a c.c. I had at on Lake
Winnipesaukee in the sailing journey.
Saturday, June 21, 2014
Splendor Gender
“Splendor Gender”
Splendor gender is like being in a bender fender.
Times are short – the days are shorter.
Small and all days.
My tails are tall with fall phases of the moon.
I’ll arrive soon.
I take sleep powders.
Drink only Manhattan clam chowders.
In soupy rain clouds.
It is raining soup as I sit on my stoop.
Is the world a giant bird coop?
The people of the world are fenced in one.
Tearing while peeling an onion in the hot sun.
Tons of fun.
Like a magical trick.
It’s music’s front page news.
Is the world science fiction?
It’s actually got no real spoken diction.
A heightened exultation.
It’s all in your clairvoyant mind.
Just ask Jean Dixon!
By Jon Billet 06.19.14.
Splendor gender is like being in a bender fender.
Times are short – the days are shorter.
Small and all days.
My tails are tall with fall phases of the moon.
I’ll arrive soon.
I take sleep powders.
Drink only Manhattan clam chowders.
In soupy rain clouds.
It is raining soup as I sit on my stoop.
Is the world a giant bird coop?
The people of the world are fenced in one.
Tearing while peeling an onion in the hot sun.
Tons of fun.
Like a magical trick.
It’s music’s front page news.
Is the world science fiction?
It’s actually got no real spoken diction.
A heightened exultation.
It’s all in your clairvoyant mind.
Just ask Jean Dixon!
By Jon Billet 06.19.14.
Traveling In My Mind
“Traveling In My Mind”
I was close to Cassius in Rome.
Sang psalms to Saul.
Fought with the Goths and Visigoths in Scarsdale Village.
Worked in an enterprise free zone.
All by myself alone at my home.
I am not what you want me to be.
A victim of your mind’s slavery.
You will never let me go free.
Like a captured bird that is seldom heard.
Give me a newly released word.
That has no text or texture.
Like a newly arrived mixture.
The future will be full of noise and toys for all the girls and boys.
Herbs and rices to all the San Francisco spices.
Sunny melting ices.
Just roll the dices.
Mitosis of psychosis.
Sanity’s metamorphosis.
That’s what war is.
Goodnight and don’t live in fright’s plight.
I’ve got invisible sight in my imaginary flight.
Please don’t get me uptight.
The time seize!
We love your iced teas.
A sneeze for eyes to see and blur all.
United I stand, divided I crawl.
I’m sixty years small.
The fall gives me its call.
A tree was once tall.
By Jonathan Billet 06.19.14.
I was close to Cassius in Rome.
Sang psalms to Saul.
Fought with the Goths and Visigoths in Scarsdale Village.
Worked in an enterprise free zone.
All by myself alone at my home.
I am not what you want me to be.
A victim of your mind’s slavery.
You will never let me go free.
Like a captured bird that is seldom heard.
Give me a newly released word.
That has no text or texture.
Like a newly arrived mixture.
The future will be full of noise and toys for all the girls and boys.
Herbs and rices to all the San Francisco spices.
Sunny melting ices.
Just roll the dices.
Mitosis of psychosis.
Sanity’s metamorphosis.
That’s what war is.
Goodnight and don’t live in fright’s plight.
I’ve got invisible sight in my imaginary flight.
Please don’t get me uptight.
The time seize!
We love your iced teas.
A sneeze for eyes to see and blur all.
United I stand, divided I crawl.
I’m sixty years small.
The fall gives me its call.
A tree was once tall.
By Jonathan Billet 06.19.14.
Tuesday, June 17, 2014
My Potatoes
"My Potatoes"
My orange taste buds tasted like colorful potatoes.
These things are not what they may seem.
Is life a scheme?
Or is it a $5.00 ream of rolling papers' steam.
Something I wipe my ass with?
Illegal to possess?
On this screen's silver scene.
Don't want to be mean.
The wrong potato chip?
A party's dip.
Another sip please!
My mouth is dry.
Like some country sky?
Why not fly by?
Very high.
To this morning tonight?
Why fight about it?
Taste the garbage.
Keep it lit on a white night.
Like a light birthday that I missed in June.
Much too soon.
May 30th 2014.
By Jonathan Billet's- 6/28/2014
My orange taste buds tasted like colorful potatoes.
These things are not what they may seem.
Is life a scheme?
Or is it a $5.00 ream of rolling papers' steam.
Something I wipe my ass with?
Illegal to possess?
On this screen's silver scene.
Don't want to be mean.
The wrong potato chip?
A party's dip.
Another sip please!
My mouth is dry.
Like some country sky?
Why not fly by?
Very high.
To this morning tonight?
Why fight about it?
Taste the garbage.
Keep it lit on a white night.
Like a light birthday that I missed in June.
Much too soon.
May 30th 2014.
By Jonathan Billet's- 6/28/2014
Bird Expressions
"Bird Expressions"
I am glad that I can give impressions through my expressions. Much the way a bird gives a child impressions through its expressions. I saw such a baby in a carriage. Time and patience develops all things like D-76 develops photographic paper. If baby birds could talk they wouldn't be able to sing. Unfortunately human babies forget their thoughts. Tell me if you think adult thinking is as useless as I do. Really not fit for the birds. Stay in touch and please don't give me bird faces like a bird gives its babies.
Love only you- Jon Billet's!i!i!i...06.16.14
I am glad that I can give impressions through my expressions. Much the way a bird gives a child impressions through its expressions. I saw such a baby in a carriage. Time and patience develops all things like D-76 develops photographic paper. If baby birds could talk they wouldn't be able to sing. Unfortunately human babies forget their thoughts. Tell me if you think adult thinking is as useless as I do. Really not fit for the birds. Stay in touch and please don't give me bird faces like a bird gives its babies.
Love only you- Jon Billet's!i!i!i...06.16.14
Visitor
"Visitor"
I am expecting zombies from distant planets.
Listening to a tune while sitting on a full moon.
In a late night's dream reality not to be what it may seem.
Teen scenes yell and scream.
A scream has no reason or rhyme.
Neither does the convoluted time.
It's all walking and talking mime.
Not worth its weight in a mercury dime.
Maybe worth a silver twenty and that's plenty.
Not as many as a golden double eagle.
But as she cries the seagull flies passing overhead.
It makes its sounds to the dead.
To a deadbeat poet.
Who will never show it.
In San Francisco's bohemian poem.
By Jonathan Billet -06.15.14.
I am expecting zombies from distant planets.
Listening to a tune while sitting on a full moon.
In a late night's dream reality not to be what it may seem.
Teen scenes yell and scream.
A scream has no reason or rhyme.
Neither does the convoluted time.
It's all walking and talking mime.
Not worth its weight in a mercury dime.
Maybe worth a silver twenty and that's plenty.
Not as many as a golden double eagle.
But as she cries the seagull flies passing overhead.
It makes its sounds to the dead.
To a deadbeat poet.
Who will never show it.
In San Francisco's bohemian poem.
By Jonathan Billet -06.15.14.
Dear Politician
"Dear Politician"
Dear Politician,
You can't fertilize the infrastructure's flowers with salt water.
Quit drawing for straw solutions and try real ones.
Forever Yours,
Jonathan Billet
Dear Politician,
You can't fertilize the infrastructure's flowers with salt water.
Quit drawing for straw solutions and try real ones.
Forever Yours,
Jonathan Billet
Monday, June 9, 2014
Development Seventy-Six
"Development Seventy-Six"
The Developer Seventy-Six and mixers.
How I love to watch your images come up.
The wind blows and every part of your body grows.
It shows, your love being a wild, narcotic, hypnotic black rose.
So let's stay up all night and day and fill our cups of java joes.
Sleep together long until the sun and moon pass away.
What do you say?
Living can never pay.
Should we miss a good time to play.
By Jonathan Billet 06.07.14.
2 & 4 SAMMY\
The Developer Seventy-Six and mixers.
How I love to watch your images come up.
The wind blows and every part of your body grows.
It shows, your love being a wild, narcotic, hypnotic black rose.
So let's stay up all night and day and fill our cups of java joes.
Sleep together long until the sun and moon pass away.
What do you say?
Living can never pay.
Should we miss a good time to play.
By Jonathan Billet 06.07.14.
2 & 4 SAMMY\
Rolling Around
"Rolling Around"
Actors throwing kisses into the sky.
We're growing on new sunshine.
Broken skies tear through the air.
Missing the kissing.
My head is stuck somewhere up in the clouds and I don't care where.
I'll call for it to come down.
Dripping mars through wax bars.
The chipped tooth chatters incessantly.
Only to bark up a tree.
Round and round in a straight line I travel upside down.
With no middle ground.
Wait while my brain flies through the skies to paradise.
The rectangle and triangle are equal on all sides.
Skipped over a lot of time to see you again.
A cumulus cloud covers my head.
It's raining Virgo.
It rains the rainbow's hues.
I'll catch the blacks and blues.
That's the backbreaking front page news.
By Jonathan Billet
06.06.14 -To Andy
Actors throwing kisses into the sky.
We're growing on new sunshine.
Broken skies tear through the air.
Missing the kissing.
My head is stuck somewhere up in the clouds and I don't care where.
I'll call for it to come down.
Dripping mars through wax bars.
The chipped tooth chatters incessantly.
Only to bark up a tree.
Round and round in a straight line I travel upside down.
With no middle ground.
Wait while my brain flies through the skies to paradise.
The rectangle and triangle are equal on all sides.
Skipped over a lot of time to see you again.
A cumulus cloud covers my head.
It's raining Virgo.
It rains the rainbow's hues.
I'll catch the blacks and blues.
That's the backbreaking front page news.
By Jonathan Billet
06.06.14 -To Andy
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